Lady Eve's Indiscretion (21 page)

They swept out, leaving Eve alone with a man who had every reason to think her daft or worse.

“Not here.” Deene took her by the hand and led her to the French doors. “They'll post a damned sentry in the corridor, and what we have to say to each other requires privacy.”

He took her into the garden, which helped ease a claustrophobic sense gathering in Eve's chest. While they walked along in silence amid beds of tulips and hyacinths, what registered in Eve's benumbed brain was that Deene's hand was warm and dry, not cold and clammy as hers felt.

“Here.” He gestured to a bench behind a privet hedge. Roses were leafing out in the nearby beds, but only a few tight buds had yet formed. When Eve took a seat, Deene lowered himself beside her and once again took her hand.

“Well?” It was all she could manage.

“Well.” He did a curious thing: he smoothed his fingers over her knuckles and brought her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to her palm. “A kiss for courage. His Grace has given me three days to notify my seconds—Anthony is in Town, and I suppose Kesmore will serve in addition—while Rothgreb and Sindal are put on notice on His Grace's behalf. We've agreed to recruit Fairly to serve as the surgeon.”

Such a cozy family murder they were planning. “Three days?”

“A bit biblical, but His Grace and I agree this needs to be wrapped up before the Season officially starts.”

They
agreed
. What they were agreeing to was obscene, but no more obscene than that Eve would allow it to go forward.

“Deene, if I married you, you would be more displeased with your choice than you could possibly know.” She hoped and prayed he'd listen to reason.

“Disappointed has a great deal to recommend it over dead, though you must do as you see fit. I cannot promise you your father will delope, Eve, though I assuredly will. Then, too, he has not discounted your brothers issuing their own challenges, and deloping does not seem in character for any of them.”

She'd condemn Deene to facing
four
firing squads, then, and what was to stop her three brothers-in-law from joining the fun? She had never known her father to back down, not ever. Her brothers were just as bad.

And she… She was the one being monumentally, murderously stubborn. None of her menfolk would have a chance at Deene if she would just say yes to his proposals.

One glimmer of hope penetrated her misery, a tiny, chimerical possibility: if it came down to a wedding night, Deene might not notice her lack of chastity.

Except he would. He wasn't a stupid man or lacking in perception.

“I can make you a promise, Eve Windham. Several promises, in fact.”

“Just not vows, please. I cannot abide the thought of vows.”

“If we marry, we will consummate the union for legal purposes and to put the compulsory obligations behind us. Thereafter, I will not press you for your attentions until such time as you indicate you are willing to be intimate with me in a marital sense.”

She peered over at him. His cheeks were the same color now. “You would leave me in peace after one night?”

“Not entirely. For appearances, we will live together as man and wife, share chambers, and go down to breakfast together. We will dote and fawn in public and make calf eyes at each other across the ballrooms, but I will not importune you.”

The small, guttering flame of hope burned a trifle brighter. His plan had potential to avoid disaster. She did not know what motivated his foolish generosity, but the plain fact was, after the wedding night, he might not
want
to have anything to do with her.

“And if I never indicate that I'm interested in my conjugal duties?”

“Never is a long time, and I am a very determined man who is quite attracted to you. Also a man in need of heirs, and I am confident you'll not deny me those.”

The flame nearly went out. Of course he'd need heirs.

“Unfair, Lucas.” Except, he was compromising, while Eve was practically loading four sets of dueling pistols and aiming them at Deene's chest. “You have an heir.”

“Who is unmarried, older than me, and for reasons not relevant to the current discussion, not a good candidate for marriage. The succession is my obligation, Eve, and I've avoided it long enough.”

She had at least ten childbearing years left, possibly twenty. That was a long time to muddle through with a man who had been nothing but considerate toward her.

And
an
impossibly
long
time
to
mourn
him, should the worst occur.

“On the conditions you've stated—that following the wedding night you will not exercise your rights unless and until I'm comfortable with the notion, we can be married, but, Lucas, when you hate the choice you've made—when you hate me—don't say I didn't warn you.”

“I will not hate you, I will not hate my choice.
That
I do vow.”

His arm came around her. He gently pushed her head to his shoulder, and they sat there amid the thorny roses, officially engaged.

***

Deene held his intended on the hard bench in the brisk spring sunshine and knew a sense of relief disproportionate to the circumstances. His Grace had proven canny, pragmatic, and ultimately more interested in his daughter's happiness than in any lethal displays of honor.

“You are the first fellow Eve has permitted to do more than sniff her hem since her come out, Deene. If she wants you, then I'll deliver you to her trussed up like a naked goose if I have to.”

They'd shared a much-appreciated drink, and Deene had listened to an old soldier plot a campaign remarkable for its cunning and simplicity. Eve's family was rallying around her once more; she simply didn't realize it.

“Shall we go in, Eve? Your father will send an armed searching party for us in another five minutes.”

She nodded and rose, keeping his hand in hers. Her complexion was so pale he could see the freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose, and her eyes were taking on a pained quality he'd seen in them before.

“This won't be so bad, Eve, I promise.”

“This?” Could her expression be any more bleak?

“This discussion with your parents, this engagement, this marriage.”

Nothing, not a nod, not a grimace. They were back in the parlor, where Her Grace sat on a sofa before the tea service and His Grace lounged against the mantel, glowering fiercely.

Eve took a seat beside her mother, while Deene remained standing. “Your Graces, I am very pleased to inform you that Lady Eve has accepted my suit.”

A moment of silence, while Deene suspected His Grace was trying not to let his relief show.

“I'm pleased as well,” the duchess said softly. “Very, very pleased. Welcome to the family, Lucas.”

His Grace blew out a breath. “I'll send for the special license then, and, Deene, you and Eve go have the obligatory tête-à-tête with the vicar. Duchess, I expect you have invitations to address, and I have every confidence Sophie and her baron will be over here for dinner this very night to celebrate with us. Perhaps they'll bring the children, seeing as the weather's moderating.”

Deene watched Eve as her dear papa shifted from outraged patriarch to doting father. She was still pale, and the pinched look behind her eyes was more noticeable. He took a gamble, keeping a close watch on Eve's reaction. “Your Graces, there is no need for a special license.”

Her Grace's brows rose, while all good cheer evaporated from His Grace's expression. “What does that mean, Deene, no need?”

“It
means
that despite what Her Grace thinks she saw, there is no need whatsoever to rush matters. I would prefer—and I expect Eve would prefer—a few weeks to cry the banns, plan a ceremony, and otherwise prepare for the upcoming nuptials. It will kick off the Season with a flourish and give all parties an opportunity to accustom themselves to the circumstances.”

He shot the older man a look, willing him to understand that circumstances in a marital context meant settlements, and settlements meant negotiations. Negotiations meant solicitors, and
that
meant at least a few weeks were needed.

“Evie?” His Grace frowned down at his daughter. “What's it to be? Deene has rather a point—we want no hole-in-the-corner associations with your wedding.”

“I agree with Deene,” Her Grace said. “A few weeks will allow some time to enjoy the preparations.”

“I'd rather the banns were called as well,” Eve said. “There is no need for haste, as Deene has said.”

Their Graces exchanged a look that might have been a little puzzled, though Deene could almost hear them conclude that any baby might come three weeks early with no one the wiser.

“Let's remark this occasion with some decent libation, then,” His Grace suggested, good cheer quite back in evidence. “I believe there's some '89 in the cellar worthy of the moment.”

“May I defer that generous offer, Your Grace?” Deene crossed the room to offer Eve his hand. “Lady Eve would likely enjoy a moment of privacy, and it would be my pleasure to escort her upstairs.”

There was no mistaking the relief in Eve's eyes, which allowed a fellow to comfort himself that he'd gotten at least one thing right in this otherwise confounding day. Eve was silent as he led her through the house, silent as he stopped outside her bedroom door and took her in his arms.

She sighed, and to his great pleasure, wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Why the sigh, love?”

“This has happened too fast, and I am not at all at peace with it. I like you, Lucas, I like you a very great deal…”

Whatever arguments she was trying to resurrect, they died on another sigh as Deene started massaging her neck. “I like you a very great deal too, and we'll manage, Eve. Trust me on that. I'll call on you tomorrow before I head into Town, and expect to see you there forthwith. No leaving me to face all the good wishes myself, if you please.”

The longer he worked at the tense muscles of her neck, the more she rested against him. “Give me a week, Lucas.”

“Do something for me.”

She was becoming a warm, boneless press of female against him with results as predictable as they were inappropriate. “What?”

“Drive out. Take that little fellow who was in the traces today, hitch up one of your sister Sophie's great beasts, but don't hole up here and fret yourself into a decline. Drive out, Eve Windham. Get into the sunshine, call on the neighbors with your news, let Her Grace show you off a bit, but get the ribbons into your hands again soon.”

She pulled away a little to peer up at him. “This is an odd request, but I'll tend to it.”

“And my only request until I can squire you about in Town.”

She blinked. “My headache feels better.”

He'd been able to ease her headache, and she liked him a very great deal. Deene kissed her cheek, waited until she'd disappeared into her room, then strode off to have that drink His Grace had mentioned.

Eve had agreed to drive out. A celebration was, indeed, in order.

***

To the eye of a devoted and loving baby sister, marriage and motherhood agreed with Maggie Windham Portmaine in every particular. Eve found a softness about her eldest sister, a warmth in her gaze, and a gentleness of manner that hadn't been present before the Earl of Hazelton had taken Maggie to wife.

And yet, the discussion Eve had in mind was likely the most difficult she'd ever undertaken.

“I am so pleased you've brought Deene up to scratch, Evie. He is more than passingly handsome, and I've long suspected he holds you in special esteem.” Maggie smiled a smile that had her green eyes sparkling, making a gorgeous counterpoint to a glorious mane of red hair.

“At least you aren't prosing on about the proximity of Denning Hall to Morelands, Deene's friendship with St. Just and Bart, or our ranks being appropriate.”

God in heaven, Eve hadn't meant to sound so grumpy.

Maggie put her teacup down and surveyed her sister. “Is this marriage to your liking, Eve? You can always join our household. Benjamin has already said so—you or Jenny, any time. You'd love Cumbria, too. I'm sure of it.”

Join their household? To be enveloped in the marital bliss of a couple who'd found each other despite daunting odds, settled down, and promptly conceived the requisite heir? At least Deene was sparing Eve that fate.

“I am pleased to be marrying Lucas, but I did not come here exclusively to discuss the nuptials.”

Maggie's smile was feline. “Of course not. Who needs to discuss anything when that exquisite ring says it all?”

Eve glanced down at the ring Deene had given her the day after… the day after
it
had happened. She now had two milestones in her life: the accident and
it
.

“This is a Denning family heirloom, not part of the entail.” And the ring was quite pretty, green emeralds in a delicate gold setting that did not dwarf Eve's hand. Deene had put it on her finger and whispered something about the rest of the parure being for their wedding night.

Almost as if they were truly…

“If you didn't come here to show off your ring and glory in making a magnificent catch, then what else is there that could possibly merit discussion?”

Eve glanced at the half-open door, and was gathering her courage to get up and close it when Maggie's husband stuck his head past the jamb. “May I interrupt for a moment?”

“Husband.” Maggie was on her feet, her arm twined around Hazelton's waist in a move that looked comfortable and natural.

Eve topped up her teacup. “Greetings, Benjamin. You're looking well.”

Well, handsome, content, quietly glowing just like his wife.

While Eve was back to wanting to smash teapots.